


Open for Business

by opal_earrings



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Gen, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Mild Language, POV Outsider, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, and they get one!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24613903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opal_earrings/pseuds/opal_earrings
Summary: Jake likes his night shift at the gas station in the middle of nowhere because nothing ever happens. The only reason he took the job is because nothing ever happens.But then something actually does. A teenager comes in covered in blood and asking to use his phone, and somehow that’s not the strangest thing that's going to happen during his shift tonight.Or: Peter using a stranger's phone to call Tony for help, from the (very confused) stranger's perspective
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 88
Kudos: 1391
Collections: Outstanding Outsider POVs, Peter Parker Stories, Spider-Man Public Identity Reveal, carolina’s | fics that have been devouRED, ellie marvel fics - read





	Open for Business

**Author's Note:**

> I've read so many fics where Peter's kidnapped and uses someone's phone to call Tony for help, and I always think about how weird that must have been from that person's perspective—some random kid calling Tony Stark to come and help him. So I wrote this, because I love a good POV outsider fic :)
> 
> Thank you for clicking on my fic, and I hope you enjoy! <3

Jake yawned, glancing up from his phone to give the store its bi-hourly checkup. Yep, still nothing. No customers, not a thing out of place, and nothing had managed to spontaneously combust in the last few minutes, although it would have been exciting if it had. Nothing _ever_ happened here, not at—he checked the time—3:27 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, but that was part of why he took this job. Making easy money sitting on his ass for 8 hours straight, only actually having to deal with a customer maybe once a month? Sign him up.

He glanced out the storefront. It was completely black outside the panoramic windows, the darkness of the night only broken up by the neon light advertising their gas station as being 24 hours, and a couple streetlamps in the distance. Not a car in sight.

Why _were_ they 24 hours? No-one ever came through here. The town was tiny and sleepy even during the day, let alone at night.

But still. Easy money. College wasn’t going to pay for itself.

He sank lower into his seat, practically dozing off on the counter. He forced himself to stay awake, though, because the boss hadn’t been happy that one time he’d arrived at 8am and found Jake passed out, drooling on the counter.

Nothing had even been _stolen_. And he’d cleaned the drool up. It wasn’t a big deal.

After a few more minutes of mindlessly picking fights on Reddit, the bell over the door rang, startling him. He almost dropped his phone—that would have been the last thing he needed, it was already cracked—but managed to catch it. He tucked it away in his pocket and pretended to be rearranging a display on the counter, at least until he looked up and actually saw who had just walked in.

It was a teenager, probably around fifteen or so. He was short and looked starved, his face pale and waxy and with dark shadows under his eyes. He was dressed in a gray T-shirt and sweatpants but was completely barefoot. And, Jake realized with horror, he was absolutely covered in blood.

It was matted in the kid’s curly hair and across his forehead, staining his T-shirt and sweatpants, and running down his bare arms. His feet were torn up, too, and any bit of visible skin that wasn’t covered in blood was a mottled purple and blue. He looked like he’d picked a fight with a train and lost—twice.

Jake stumbled to his feet, startling the kid, who almost knocked over a display of greetings cards.

“What the f—shit, kid, are you okay?”

The kid didn’t reply immediately. He stared at Jake for a moment, a crease between his eyebrows as if determining whether or not Jake was a threat.

“Kid, do you need help? Do I need to call the police?”

That, apparently, was enough for the kid, who shook his head and quickly crossed the store. He leant heavily against the counter and looked up at Jake with wide, pleading eyes.

“Can I use your phone?”

Automatically, Jake reached for it, frowning a bit.

“Um, are you sure you don’t want me to call the police for you?”

The kid shook his head again.

“Please, don’t—not the police. Can I call someone?”

Warily, Jake handed over his phone. His mind ran wild as the kid stepped away from the counter slightly and began to dial a number. Wasn’t it a pretty big red flag if someone didn’t want to get involved with the police? Was there something sinister going on? Should Jake be even more concerned for this kid? Or should he keep out of it? Was he gonna get murdered if he called the police? His only source of knowledge on the subject was movies, and he didn't get the impression they were that reliable.

Nothing ever happened here. What the fuck were you supposed to do if something actually happened?

The kid finished dialing the number with bloody fingers and held the phone up to his ear. After a few rings, someone answered. Jake couldn’t make out what they’d said, but at the sound of the person’s voice, the kid’s face crumpled.

“Mr. Stark?” he said, voice thick.

The person on the other end of the line—Mr. Stark, he guessed—cried out loud enough for even Jake to hear.

“ _Peter?!_ ”

As Mr. Stark kept talking, the kid—Peter—screwed up his face and bit at his lip to keep from crying.

“It’s me. It’s me,” he said, hands shaking with a precarious grip on Jake’s phone. “I’m okay.”

Jake raised an eyebrow at that, giving the kid another once over. He’d left a trail of bloody footprints from the door to the counter, as well as a smear of blood on the back of Jake’s phone.

Peter nodded along to what Mr. Stark was saying.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Is May okay?”

Whatever Mr. Stark said, it was enough that Peter couldn’t quite hold back the dam and silent tears began to pour down his face.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry… I don’t know, I’ll…” Peter glanced up at Jake. “Excuse me, sir? Where am I?”

“Buffalo,” said Jake.

Peter’s forehead screwed up, glancing out the window. “Buffalo…?”

“Uh, Buffalo, Oklahoma?”

The kid’s mouth dropped open, his eyebrows twisting up in despair. “I’m in Oklahoma right now?”

“Were you… not expecting to be?”

“No,” the kid whispered, and then relayed the information into the phone. “How… how long do you think you’ll be?”

Mr. Stark’s answer made Peter’s face fall.

“Okay,” he said, stoically. “I’ll… I’ll wait here. Yeah… we’re at a gas station. I’ll… see you soon.”

Peter hung up and handed the phone back to Jake, wincing slightly when he noticed the blood coating the back of the case.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be,” Jake said, grabbing a tissue from the box under the counter and wiping down his phone. “How long’s your friend gonna be?”

“Three hours,” said Peter. His eyes widened. “Can I… can I stay here? I—I don’t want to be a bother, but I told him I’d be here and he’s gonna freak out if I’m not—”

Jake waved down Peter’s nervousness. “Yeah, you can stay here. Honestly, kid, in the shape you’re in? I wouldn’t let you just walk out like that.”

He threw away the used tissue, slipped his phone back into his pocket and glanced out the storefront again. Still nothing—no signs of anyone, neither regular traveler nor second blood-soaked teenager.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Peter hugged himself. “You don’t have to, sir, it’s fine, you’re working—”

“Kid, I’m bored out of my mind. No-one’s gonna come through here. Let’s go to the back and get you all sorted out, okay? And it’s Jake.”

“…Okay. Thanks, Jake.”

Before they went round back, Jake collected a packet of baby wipes and Band-Aids from the meagre health aisle and—given that the kid was all skin and bone—insisted he grabbed a few snacks and something to drink. Peter tried to refuse, but Jake could tell by the glint in the kid’s eye that he was ravenous, and after only a little pushing the kid picked out some chips and a candy bar. The kid weakly tried to insist that he didn’t have any money, but Jake shot that down too.

In the break room, Jake swept his jacket off the hook on the door and laid it out on the ratty couch for Peter to sit on. Even he knew that the boss wouldn’t forgive bloodstains on the couch, no matter how stained and gross it already was.

As carefully as he could, Jake wiped off the blood on Peter’s face, arms and feet and then used two entire packets of Band-Aids to try and stop the bleeding. He wasn’t an expert, but some of the cuts were bleeding pretty badly and he suspected they might need stitches. There was no way Jake was gonna offer to do that though. Fuck that, he’d end up making everything worse. The Band-Aids would have to do.

Once Peter was all cleaned up, the kid tore open the packet of chips and began shoveling them into his mouth by the handful.

“So, uh,” Jake said. How was he supposed to make conversation with this kid that’d been attacked and most likely kidnapped? Was it rude to mention it? “Um, where’ve you come from?”

Well, that probably wasn’t the best approach. That made it sound like the kid was just on a road trip. Granted, by the sounds of it he probably had traveled pretty far in a car, but Jake didn’t think it counted as a _road trip_ if you were in the trunk.

“New York,” Peter said around a mouthful of chips.

New York? “Your friend’s coming from _New York_ in three hours?”

“Uh huh.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. This whole situation was weird as hell and was only getting more and more suspicious. There was no way anyone could get here from New York in three hours. But if the kid was lying, should he be pressing for the truth? He still didn’t want to get murdered though. But he didn’t want to leave a kid in a bad situation. Did he have a moral responsibility to try and keep this kid safe from whatever the fuck he might have gotten himself caught up in even if it meant maybe getting shanked?

God, he was too young for this. Why was this happening. The only reason he took this job was because nothing ever happened!

Jake lowered his voice. “Listen, kid. About this guy coming to get you…”

He paused, wondering how to word this delicately. Peter stared patiently, eyes wide and innocent.

“Is he… are you… safe? Do your parents know him? Cause like, I know this might be scary but if we need to I can hide you somewhere, my parents’ house is on the other side of town or I can always call the police—”

Peter’s mouth made an O as he understood. “No, no, it’s okay—there’s nothing like that going on. My, uh, guardian knows him, and I would have called her, it’s just that he’ll be able to get here quicker.”

Jake nodded slowly. “So long as you’re sure you’re safe.”

Peter also nodded, and an unspoken agreement passed between them not to mention the bleeding, kidnapped elephant in the room.

Eventually, Peter fell asleep on the couch—it was approaching 4 a.m., after all, and fuck knows how far the kid walked from wherever the hell he came from.

Which was, uh, a good point. Should Jake be worried about that? Where exactly _had_ he come from?

Well, the kid didn’t seem worried that he had been followed. So that meant it was probably not an imminently threatening problem, right? Unless the kid singlehandedly took out a gang of kidnappers, but he didn’t look capable of that.

Jake eased his jacket out from under Peter and draped it over the kid’s shoulders, then went back out front to watch the store. It took a few minutes to clean up all the blood, but after that, Jake was left with nothing to do once again except occasionally check in on the teenager asleep in the break room.

He ended up putting on the TV that was mounted on the wall next to the counter, half-watching it in case anything came up about a teenager going missing, but nothing did.

Eventually, just forty-five minutes before Jake’s boss would be arriving for the morning shift, a loud _clank!_ drew Jake’s attention to the parking lot.

His phone slipped between his fingers and landed on the counter as his jaw hit the floor. What the—how the hell had this shift just managed to get even weirder?

Because standing there in the middle of the parking lot was an Iron Man suit.

Whelp, he’d finally lost it.

Then the suit opened up and Tony fucking Stark stumbled out, dressed in a graphic T-shirt of all things. For some reason, that was what Jake’s mind focused on: the fact that he’d never seen Tony Stark in anything less formal than a suit before, because that was easier to digest than the fact that _Iron Man_ just landed in Buffalo, Oklahoma.

And then the bell over the door went and Tony Stark was stood there, in Jake’s tiny gas station.

“Where is he?” he demanded.

Jake’s mind went blank because holy shit, that’s Tony Stark. And Iron Man! _Here!_

“Who?”

Tony Stark’s face twisted up in rage and he advanced on Jake. “Peter! The kid! He rang saying he was here, and I swear to God if you’ve let anyone leave with him—”

“He’s in the back!” Jake squeaked, pointing.

Without another word, Tony Stark disappeared through the door to the break room.

Jake stared blankly after him. That was… that was… why on Earth—?

Unable to reign in his curiosity, Jake went and stood in the doorway of the break room, peering in. Tony Stark was knelt by the couch—that disgusting, stained couch—with the kid now awake and wrapped up safely in his arms. Tony Stark’s hand stroked Peter’s hair comfortingly, and the kid clung to him like a koala.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you,” Tony Stark whispered.

The kid, openly crying, nuzzled his face into Tony Stark’s neck. The whole display was surprisingly heartwarming. Who knew Iron Man had it in him to be so tender and caring? Personally, Jake had always thought the guy was an arrogant prick with a priceless PR team.

This, however, was almost sweet. At least he didn’t have to worry about whether or not the kid was safe anymore, Jake realized with relief.

Tony Stark pulled back, taking the kid’s face in his hands. “You’re hurt,” he said, as if every wound on the kid’s skin was a personal failure on his part.

Peter shook his head. “They’ll heal. And Jake took care of me.”

Tony Stark glanced over his shoulder. Jake jumped at being caught eavesdropping, but thankfully, that didn’t appear to be a crime punishable by being vaporized by the Iron Man suit. Instead, the man shot him a grateful nod.

“How long was I gone?” Peter asked.

“Three weeks,” said Tony Stark softly, turning back to Peter.

The kid’s face screwed up. “Three weeks? Oh my God… May… is May okay?”

“I told you before,” Tony Stark said, though not unkindly. “She’s fine. Out of her mind with worry about you, but fine.” He pulled Peter close again, wrapping an arm around his back. “There’s a Quinjet coming. It’s a few miles out. We’ll be back home before you know it, okay?”

The kid nodded and buried his face in Tony Stark’s chest. “Okay.” He sniffled. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Tony Stark whispered, so softly that Jake almost couldn’t hear it. “You’re never allowed to go missing again, you hear me? It’s against the rules. I’m banning it, I’ve just decided. And I’m Iron Man so you have to listen to me or I’ll write a letter to MIT specifically telling them not to accept you.”

Peter laughed weakly, tightening his grip on Tony Stark. “I’ll try.”

They lapsed into silence aside from Peter’s sniffles, and Jake, feeling awkward, left. He began tidying up ready for the end of his shift, making sure that there were no traces left of Peter’s blood anywhere.

A few minutes later, the roar of an engine outside caught his attention. By now, Jake wasn’t surprised by anything, so the sight of a Quinjet—one with the Avengers logo stamped on the side and everything—landing in the parking lot outside barely garnered a reaction from him. Or maybe he was just in shock? Or sleep deprived? Or maybe the mind-numbingly boring job had finally rotted his brain. Who knew?

The door to the break room opened and Tony Stark came out with Peter clinging to his side. Jake expected to be ignored, but they came over to the counter on their way out.

“Peter told me you helped him,” Tony Stark said, fishing around in the pocket of his jeans, “and I can’t thank you enough for that. Here, for the snacks. Keep the change.”

Jake gaped as Tony Stark dropped three hundred-dollar bills into his awaiting hands. Okay, maybe he was still capable of being surprised.

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. Just don’t tell anyone about what you saw today, okay?” Tony Stark said, an edge of that usual steel that Jake associated with him creeping into his tone.

Jake glanced at Peter, briefly wondering who the hell this kid was. He nodded. “I didn’t see anything.” God, that sounded so cool. He’d always wanted to say that.

Although, he supposed that meant he couldn’t ask for a photo?

“Good man.”

“Thank you, Jake,” said Peter with a shaky smile.

And then they were gone. They disappeared out the door and onto the Quinjet, which took off a moment later, Peter not letting go of Tony Stark the whole time Jake could see them.

He stood there, staring blankly out the storefront, as the sun slowly rose. Eventually, his boss pulled into the parking lot and Jake shoved the hundred-dollar bills into his pocket, the only evidence he had that the whole night hadn’t just been some weird hallucination.

***

**Six Years Later**

“ _Spider-Man’s name is Peter Parker!_ ”

The video was all over Jake’s social media feed when he checked it. It was all anyone was talking about, understandably—people had been wondering about the face behind that mask for _years_. And yeah, finding out that it was the face of a murderer wasn’t great, but it sure was interesting.

Something about Spider-Man’s face tickled his memory, though. Where had he seen…?

Oh.

Oh, _fuck_.

Well… that explained a lot.

 _I definitely should have asked for a photo_ , Jake realized with dismay.


End file.
